


A Ring of Violets

by A_Stressed_Cupcake



Series: The Final Days of Victor Frankenstein [1]
Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Or hallucinations, Victor Frankenstein is an idiot, What Have I Done, You Decide, and more importantly what has Victor done, angst angst angst, seriously, this may be the least happy thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Stressed_Cupcake/pseuds/A_Stressed_Cupcake
Summary: Unconsciousness is bliss when one is in pain. How else to describe my feelings during those last few days of poor Frankenstein’s life? He seemed to be at peace only as long as he languished in the tender embrace of sleep. I am convinced that he sees something I cannot.
Relationships: Henry Clerval & Victor Frankenstein, Robert Walton & Victor Frankenstein
Series: The Final Days of Victor Frankenstein [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717951
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	A Ring of Violets

_ Unconsciousness is bliss when one is in pain. How else to describe my feelings during those last few days of poor Frankenstein’s life? He seemed to be at peace only as long as he languished in the tender embrace of sleep. I am convinced that he sees something I cannot. If only I could accompany him on his journey through the realm of Morpheus, if for a moment I could see what had the poor man so shaken… _

_ Alas, I could not. _

_ He yelled sometimes, whispered the names of the dead; if he failed to recover soon, I knew he would join them in a matter of days. _

_ I feared, beloved sister, that it was Death himself that painted his lips with the colours of the storm, his skin white as his shroud, and in his black hair drew streaks of gray. I could see how every petal of the rose of his health faded from his cheek with each breath he drew. Indeed, he looked too much like a corpse, too much like the daemon he so oft mentioned in the throes of his nightmares. _

_ How to describe the words he spoke then? A madman's screams. _

_ I wish I'd known what he saw, if only so I could have comforted him when he returned to his senses. Alas. _

The first time I opened my eyes, it was to a gentle touch on my forehead. My head, not on my knowing command, shifted to better feel the comfortingly cold hand on my burning face.

"Oh! How cold you are!" I cried, "But stay! I pray you, stay."

"If only I could, my dear Frankenstein." My nurse answered, like he had so many times before. His hands were the hands of Henry Clerval. Moments later, he placed a cloth soaked in water on my forehead. Words could not express my joy upon seeing dear Clerval; I knew that I could not have a more devoted friend attending to me as he had done once before.

"Why do you say that? Why can't you stay, Henry? I pray you, stay."

"I will not be here when you wake, my poor Victor. I will not see you again at all, perhaps. I only promise to be at your side for as long as I can; speak to me, my friend, for I have missed you dearly."

Clerval seemed to me burdened by grief and worry, more than he had ever shown himself to be. Indeed, there was something of the deepest despair in his countenance; something so peculiar for him, so strange, that I cried out once more: "Oh, do not say that! Do not look so upset, Clerval: it frightens me! What's wrong?"

Clerval's face was marked by the deepest sadness at my reply. 

"Do you not remember what happened, Victor?"

"No! For heaven's sake, what's wrong? Why are you upset, my poor friend, when you usually shine with the brightest joy? Oh, you frighten me. What is that ring of violets you bear around your neck? What has happened to you, my dear? Who has hurt you?"

He did not reply immediately. He turned his darkened face away from me and a lock of his hair escaped its silken confinement to brush past his ear.

"You have." he said, and there was something frightening in his voice: deep despair, betrayal perhaps, pity, sadness and anger all at once. The memories of what he so suddenly mentioned returned, crashing and breaking, much like waves against the cliffside, and I cried out once more with the purest agony; I knew then that it was a shadow I looked upon, and not my dearest friend. Clerval's eyes were much like glass when he looked at me again 

"Did he not threaten you, Victor? Did you not think of me when you accepted his bargain?"

He wept then, without anger. 

He lifted his hand from my forehead, but I stopped him with trembling arms, and held him against me, cold as he was. 

"I beg you, forgive me!" I cried, "I thought of you, my dear, most fondly; I did not believe you would be harmed! He did not mention you-"

"Has it not pierced your brilliant mind, our actions cannot be undone? You knew he was capable of causing me harm, as he had done twice before! Or have you already forgotten little William? Was he not murdered for bearing your damned name, Frankenstein; the name you cursed with your deadly sin?"

"I beseech you, Clerval!" I wept, "It pains me to hear your words!"

"It pains me to speak them." he replied, pulling himself away, though I would not leave his hand. "But how afraid you look, Frankenstein. Why? I would not harm you." he assured me, though the disdain on his pale face did not recede.

I sobbed in despair. If he had been alive to feel it, though I was most certain that he was not, my desperate grip would have surely hurt his arms, which now glistened with the pallor of Death. I could not describe my feelings then, as I looked once more upon the horror of that labour which had drained each drop of the heavenly happiness I knew I had once felt. 

That cold detachment which I had perceived to rest on Henry's features melted away like silver snow in April, and there bloomed the flowers of concern and pity, which had so oft in my presence adorned his visage. I was once again able to recognize the friend that had so diligently cared for me at Ingolstadt, ignorant still to the horror that would soon befall him.

"Good heavens, Victor!" he whispered, "Have I so badly frightened you? I am sorry."

"Do not be! Do not be!! But do not leave me, I beg you!" I cried, and held him against my shoulder, though I could feel my strength waning, and the tender arms of Sleep begin to embrace me.

I could not see clearly any more, no further than Henry's head; yet I would know the wretch that so thoughtlessly destroyed my friend and my family even if I were blind and deaf. I cried out: "Daemon! Is your lust for blood not yet satisfied? Why do you come here? to witness your final victim's final breath? Be gone!" 

He did not answer me, but ran towards us and without a word pulled Clerval away from me; I held his arm still, for as long as I could, to no avail, and I yelled: "Leave him! For heaven's sake, leave him! You've taken him once before; I beg you, for God's sake, leave him! Leave him!" 

He would not listen.

I lost my sight then, and cried out in anguish, for I had lost sight of poor Clerval and of the wretched beast that had once again taken him from me. The last of my strength fled my feeble soul with that scream, and I collapsed onto the bed.

_ Something of a strange nature happened that day, which I could not explain to you. _

_ I was, to the best of my capabilities, attempting to relieve Frankenstein's agony with some fresh water; in doing so, I appear to have roused him from his tormented slumber. He spoke incoherently, he would not listen to me, called me by the name of that good friend he mentioned, who had been found strangled on the coast of Ireland long before I met Frankenstein. He seized me when I attempted to leave his side and would not let me go; how he screamed, Margaret, when some of my men heard the commotion and pried me from his arms! _

_ I do not know what he saw; I am sure that it frightened him, though, because Frankenstein collapsed into a worse fever than before as soon as I was freed from his grasp. _

_ I could only hope for his recovery, though the hope grew scarcer and scarcer still. _

**Author's Note:**

> Hallucinations or ghosts? Up to you :)  
> Yes, I did reference the musical.  
> Yes, I am sorry for writing this.  
> No, I have no idea where the hell this (and all following fics, because there's more if anyone wants to read them) came from.  
> This fandom needs more angst because the book clearly doesn't have enough :,)
> 
> Leave a comment because this fandom is too small 
> 
> -Cass


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